Polite Distance
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: While out for drinks one night, Oscar and Kurt run into a few familiar faces.
1. Polite Distance

_**A/N: **Been wanting to write this silly little thing for a long while now. There's a couple of new OCs here—I hope you like them! :)_

* * *

He was alone for the night—no wife, no kids—and so inevitably he ended up at a bar. He was a bit too old to going out to bars alone on weekend nights, but he was feeling especially sorry for himself, and going out for a drink alone among other people felt better, somehow, than drinking at home all by himself.

He ended up at the Rockwell, partially because his wife disliked the bar and she wasn't with him, and partially because that's where he was supposed to meet his son—if his son hadn't backed out of their plans not fifteen minutes before they'd been scheduled to meet. It was Anthony's last night—after a week of not seeing him, Oscar had had one last chance, and now it was gone too.

He still felt sadly bitter when he thought about it, and ashamed of his bitterness. His son was a grown man now, and yet here Oscar was feeling abandoned by him, just because Anthony had texted back, _I can't tonight, Dad. Not feeling up to it._ There could be any number of reasons behind that text. Maybe Anthony was tired. Maybe he was feeling under the weather. Maybe he was stressed out by work. Maybe a thousand things.

But Oscar knew what it really meant.

_I don't want to see you_.

I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to be around you.

Anthony didn't need to say the words out loud for them to be true, though sometimes Oscar wished he would. He wished they would put it out in the open, maybe yell a little. They'd been walking on eggshells ever since Anthony's divorce, and on the rare occasions Anthony actually came home—only twice since the papers had gone through—he always seemed to spend as little time as possible around his father.

He didn't spend much time around his mother, either—she was as dumbfounded by the divorce as her husband—but Jane didn't take the rejection as hard or as personally as Oscar did. He felt like he'd failed Anthony, somehow—taught him the wrong life lessons, or at least hadn't taught him enough of the right ones. But he didn't know for sure. Anthony had never said.

Nursing his second beer of the night, Oscar supposed he was lucky to get so much as a text at all.

His phone was burning a hole in his pocket, but he refused to look at it. He knew there would be no messages there—no texts, no calls, no voicemails. He had it set to vibrate and it hadn't vibrated once since Anthony's text over an hour ago. His wife was out with her friends and his grown children saw no need to contact him at this time on a Friday night. And he didn't have anyone else, really, that might try to contact him.

He ought to have more friends, he knew, but it was hard, at his age. Barely anyone made friends past thirty—and near sixty, what were his chances? Slim to none. It didn't matter. He had friends. They just happened to mainly be his wife's friends, and she'd commandeered them for the night.

At least there was enough going on at the bar for him to indulge in his wife's favorite pastime—people-watching—to make up for the fact that he was alone.

The bar was mostly kids—full of twenty- and thirty-somethings, loud and abrasive—but he didn't mind. He liked the way their eyes passed right over him here, as if he were invisible. He'd gotten used to being an old man, though he wasn't exactly sure when that transition had occurred.

He had finished his second beer and was just signalling the waitress for a third when someone stopped by his table. In the split-second before he looked over, he wondered if it was a couple kids, thinking he was asking for the check, hoping to snag his table. He didn't want to leave so soon. It was only nine, and he didn't want to go back home to an empty house. His wife likely wouldn't be home for an hour or two more. And he was comfortable in this bar. It was busy and loud, but he had a spot—

"Do you mind if I join you?"

He heard the voice just as his head was starting to turn, and so before he saw who it was, he _knew _who it was. Nonetheless, he stared up at the visitor for a moment, surprised. He hadn't expected to see anyone he knew—let alone anyone around his own age—at his bar.

But Kurt Weller was standing here, waiting for an answer.

"Sure," Oscar answered automatically, reflexively sitting up straighter. He'd been hunched over in his own world for far too long tonight. He watched as Kurt took off his coat and slung it around the back of the chair before sitting down. "The good doctor working late?" he asked.

Kurt nodded. "Some kind of tumor removal I can't pronounce. I usually would wait at home, but…" He paused, looking over his shoulder at the crowd around them, taking in the youth and the noise and the life. His voice was quieter when he next spoke. "It's been years, but the house still feels empty without the girls," he finished finally, and Oscar could feel a familiar loss in his voice. He'd come out to forget about Ant cancelling his visit as if it meant nothing, and here Kurt was reminding him of it. Oscar wasn't resentful, though; in fact, it was nice to be around someone who felt the same. Jane had merely shrugged when Oscar had told her about the ruined weekend; she liked being an empty nester nowadays. But it was taking Oscar—and Kurt, apparently—longer to adjust.

The waitress came by then, a refill already in her hand for Oscar. She took Kurt's order with a perfunctory smile, her eyes on the younger men sitting at the table behind them.

"So," Kurt said, once she had left. "What about you? Why's Jane abandoned you tonight?"

"It's the first Friday," Oscar pointed out, taking a sip of his beer.

Kurt stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, until his face broke in an incredulous smile. "Wow," he laughed. "They still do that?"

Oscar nodded. "Her and Patterson and Tasha. Drinks at Ruby's. Every first Friday. Like clockwork."

"Like nothing's changed."

There was a wistful note in Kurt's voice, and it made Oscar look over. Kurt was back to watching all the other patrons at the bar, but Oscar kept his gaze on him nonetheless. It had been a while since they'd been alone together, a while since they'd talked.

"You miss it," Oscar said.

It wasn't a question, but Kurt nodded anyway. He had waited as long as possible before retirement, but eventually he'd surrendered to the inevitable pressure. He'd been keeping himself busy ever since—especially with his wife still working—but there was less meaning to hobbies and part-time consulting than there had been to _work_. Though he hadn't quite made it to retirement yet, Oscar was dreading knowing exactly how that felt.

They talked about sports for a while, arguing the merits of the Cubs and the Pirates, enjoying hating the Yankees together, and half-heartedly attempting to discern whatever game it was the people crowded around the bar kept yelling about. They went through a couple rounds, talking about their wives and their families and commiserating about getting old. At one point Anna called, and Kurt stepped outside to speak with her. Oscar expected that to be that—she was done with surgery, so Kurt was heading home, but to Oscar's surprise Kurt came back to the table, mentioned only that the surgery had gone well, and then they returned to what they'd been discussing. Jane called at one point too, much later, giggling the way she did whenever she'd had too much to drink. She acted the same at sixty as she had at thirty, and it made Oscar smile to realize. Some things really didn't change. She asked when he'd be home, and he told her soon. But he ended back at the table anyway, talking with Kurt.

It was late—must've been near midnight—when they finally agreed to call in quits. Before he could even offer to cover the bill, Kurt handed the waitress his card, and told her to transfer the open tab onto it.

This had begun happening ever since Kurt and Anna had gotten married—and sometimes, it had happened even before that. Kurt was a generous person, always had been. But ever since he had married one of the best surgeons in the state, he had cash to burn.

Oscar sighed heavily. "You do know that I _have_ money, right, Weller? Maybe not as much as you, but definitely enough to cover some beers."

Kurt just smiled, signing his name at the bottom. "You can pay next time, Brenton."

Oscar muttered sourly under his breath, but secretly he appreciated the generosity. It was something a friend would do for another.

And Oscar would certainly pay for next time.

It was chilly when they stepped outside, but the cold wind helped bring a smidge of sobriety back to both men. They stood outside the door for a moment, getting their bearings.

"Walking?" Kurt asked.

"Walking," Oscar affirmed. It was only a mile or so.

"I'll take you back."

Oscar shook his head. First the bill, now this. Had Jane secretly sent Weller here to babysit him?

"I'm _fine_," he told Kurt. "I can make it home on my own. I'm barely even drunk."

"You're definitely drunk, and you're also an old man."

"I'm seven years younger than you!"

"Yeah, and you're more drunk than me, too. Come on, we can take a cab."

"Oh, so you can pay for it?" Oscar scowled, starting down the street. "No, I'll walk, thanks."

Kurt sighed loudly, sending steam into the air. "There goes the little anarchist—always so difficult."

But he followed after Oscar anyway.

They walked along in companionable silence for fifteen minutes or so, just listening to the sounds of the city around them. Car horns honking, young women screeching and laughing, their male counterparts yelling and sometimes shoving. They were careful to sidestep any vomit on the street. There wasn't much yet—it was still to early—but they watched their steps nonetheless.

It was a few blocks more before Oscar heard it: a laugh. A laugh much like the others he'd heard on the street and in the bar, but different. Special. _Familiar_.

He stopped abruptly, turning around to search for the source, but there was no one laughing behind them. He looked front again: nothing. Kurt was starting to ask him what he was doing, and then—there it was again. And he found the source, the person he knew would be there, across the street, half a block ahead of them.

Anthony was there, head thrown back, laughing as he walked arm and arm with a woman.

A _woman_.

Oscar stared in disbelief.

He didn't know why he hadn't considered this possibility before: Anthony blowing him off simply because he'd wanted to spend time with a date. But he knew the answer even as he stood there, because the first thought that came to his mind was: _It's too early. He _just _got divorced_.

But it wasn't too early, apparently. And clearly the divorce wasn't weighing as heavy on Anthony as it once had. Oscar stared after him, hungry for this happiness he hadn't seen in his son for so long, soaking it in with something between relief and heartache.

So Anthony was feeling good enough to go out for a few drinks.

Just not with him.

It was good to see Ant happy, truly—but Oscar was scared that it, like so many other things in Anthony's life these days, was only temporary.

The divorce had been hard. Everyone knew that. And Oscar knew that he and Jane hadn't exactly taken it well. They'd been disbelieving when they should've been sympathetic, wheedling when they should've been comforting. Looking back, Oscar supposed it made sense why Ant had lied to him earlier, why he'd blown him off most of this week and especially tonight. Why spend a night with his old, judgmental dad when he could instead be out with people his own age, who didn't pester him about his ruined marriage?

Kurt was at his side, still wondering what Oscar was doing, threatening to call Jane in case he was having a stroke. Oscar shook him off, turning away quickly from Anthony before Kurt could have time to recognize him. He didn't want to talk about his son with Kurt. He didn't want to have to explain the reason why he'd been drinking alone tonight when Kurt had found him.

"Nothing," he muttered by way of explanation as he started forward again. "I just thought I saw somebody I knew."

Kurt absorbed that without argument, and they walked forward together, silence falling between them again. But it wasn't silent for Oscar. He was attuned to the pair walking across the street, straining his failing ears to capture every laugh and every word. He stole glances every few seconds, trying not to be obvious. They were still about a half a block ahead of him and Kurt, and Oscar wondered how much longer they would stay on this street. He had no idea where Anthony was staying while he visited New York. Were they going to his hotel? Her apartment? Another bar?

The couple stopped at a street corner one block ahead, but not for traffic—there were no cars around. Instinctively, Oscar picked up his pace. Clearly they were about to make a decision, and he wanted to know what it was. He also wanted to see the woman his son was out with. He hadn't caught a clear look at her once—she was walking on Anthony's far side, and she had her hood up against the cold. Oscar tried, but could not imagine what sort of woman his son would be interested in. The only woman he could picture was his ex-daughter-in-law.

He felt his heart sinking a little. He wondered what she would think, if she were here, seeing this. He missed her. He hoped she was okay. He wondered if she had moved on, too.

"What do you think? One more bar?"

They were close enough now that Oscar could hear his son's voice clearly. He glanced at Kurt on his other side, but he didn't seem to hear—or if he did, he hadn't recognized Anthony's voice.

"We can go to that place you like—what's it called? The one on… Shit, what street was it again?"

The woman laughed again, softly, and then she said something that made both Oscar and Kurt's heads snap in their direction. They both knew that voice. And there had only ever been one person in the world who called Anthony "Tony".

"What?" Anthony smiled at her use of the nickname.

He always smiled whenever Norah Weller called him Tony.

"I don't want to go to any more bars. I want to go to bed." Norah reached out for Anthony's hand, her smile widening along with his. "So are you going to take me to bed or what?"

"Oh, absolutely."

They walked off without another word, hand in hand, and Kurt and Oscar stood there staring until they'd disappeared around the next corner.

"I thought they were friends," Kurt said finally. He sounded as numb as Oscar felt. "They've… They've always been _friends_." He turned to Oscar. "Right?"

Oscar meant to nod, but somehow his head wouldn't work. Yes, Norah and Anthony had always gotten along very well. Growing up, Norah had been like the older sister Ant had never had. They'd been far enough apart in age that a romantic relationship between them had never been something either family had to worry about when they'd been kids. But the older a person gets, the less those little age gaps matter...

_They've always been friends_. The words reverberated in his head as he felt something hot and ugly run through his veins. _They've always been friends_.

"It's her fault."

"What?" Kurt was hardly listening. He was still staring after the street they'd disappeared down, as if they might come back if only he waited long enough.

"Norah. She's the reason—" Oscar felt relieved and furious at the same time. He didn't want to say it—not to Kurt—but the words were coming out anyway; the eruption was unstoppable. He'd finally found the answer—and it _wasn't his fault_. "She's the reason Ant got divorced. Ant's marriage was _fine, _and then she showed up and ruined _everything_—"

"Shut the fuck up."

Oscar flinched at the curse. In all the years he'd known him, Kurt rarely ever swore.

"You're calling my daughter a—a—" He couldn't even get out the word. "What the hell?" he demanded instead, turning on Oscar. "What is your problem? Since when is _your _son's divorce _my _daughter's fault?"

"Since obviously she seduced him!"

"_She _seduced—" Kurt spluttered, turning away. He felt the urge to hit something, and he knew both he and Oscar were far too old for fistfights. "You're out of touch, you know that? Blaming the woman for a man's divorce? Come on. Not that we even _know _this was going on when he was married."

"Of course it was going on when he was married! Look at them! They've been doing this for god knows how long!"

Kurt glanced worrisomely down the empty street they'd turned down. "Look, we can yell about cause and effect later. Norah's place is a five minutes' walk away. We've gotta come up with a game plan to stop them. We need to call them or something, get one of them out of there."

Oscar snorted. "Good luck with that. Ant blew me off this whole week. I doubt he'd answer a call from me at this point even if it were an emergency." He tipped his head at Kurt. "You call Norah. Tell her Anna needs her for something."

"For what? It's midnight."

"I don't know! Just call her."

Kurt dug his phone out of his pocket, tapping quickly before putting the phone to his ear. His youngest answered on the third ring.

"Hi, kid. No, I know it's late. No, I'm fine. Mom's fine. _No_, I'm not drunk…" There was chatter on the other end of the line while Kurt sighed. He shared a sour glance with Oscar, who mouthed _Come on_ at him. Steeling himself, Kurt lowered his voice carefully. "Nor… Look, sweetheart, I just called to see if you've talked with Anthony Brenton at all today." Oscar gave him an incredulous look, but Kurt waved him off. He knew what he was doing now; he'd landed on a good out. "His dad hasn't heard from him in a while and he's worried. With the divorce and everything… He just wants to talk to him before he leaves town tomorrow. Do you have any idea where he is at all?"

There was silence for a few seconds; Oscar couldn't tell if Norah was talking or not.

Finally, Kurt said, "Look, if you happen to see him, or text him, just let him know. He's an adult and all, but his parents would like to see him."

He hung up the phone and they both stood there for a moment, wondering what to do.

"I should get home," Oscar said finally. "In case he's running back."

"I should get home too." Kurt's face was set. "I need to talk to Anna about this."

Oscar hadn't even begun to think about breaking the news to his wife. "Shit," he muttered. And then, unhappily: "Why do we have to be the messengers?"

Kurt's only response was to shrug, and to flag down the lone cab that was passing. "Have fun walking," he said as he shut the door.

Oscar ended up jogging back. He was nervous Anthony would beat him home, but when he got there, the apartment was dark and silent. Jane was asleep in their bedroom. He hesitated in the doorway, deliberating over whether he should wake her up now or handle Anthony first. But a mere twenty seconds of nervous energy told him he wouldn't be able to last a full minute without having someone to talk to about this—didn't matter if it was his wife or his son. He called out her name.

* * *

The light was on in the kitchen when Kurt got home, and for a second he wondered if he'd scared Norah back home, but then he saw the note from his wife on the counter. _Brunch tomorrow? Don't wake me up until 11._

He smiled at it for a second before realizing he'd have to ignore it. He couldn't wait until 11 AM tomorrow morning to talk to his wife about this.

She was dead asleep in the bed after such a tiring surgery, but he didn't hesitate. He shook her foot, then her shoulder. She groaned in complaint, rolling away from him, but he didn't let up.

"Wake up. Come on, wake up, I have to talk to you, Anna. It's important."

"No, you don't. Unless the house is on fire, you have nothing to say to me."

"It's something worse than a fire." Kurt paused, trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but soon gave up. There was no nice way to say this. "Norah is sleeping with Anthony Brenton."

Anna turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. For a moment they stared at each other in silence, and Kurt felt a surge of relief. Anna understood like he did. Of course she did. They could figure this out together, just like they figured everything out together.

But then she smiled. She _laughed._

"Oh, honey." She reached out a hand to pat his cheek. "For a former detective, you really are slow on the uptake sometimes."

He stared, not believing what he was hearing. No way Anna knew about this. No _way_.

But she was still smiling at him, and for just a moment, he hated that smile.

"How long?" he demanded. "How long has it been going on? How long have you _known_?"

"Oh, I don't know…" She yawned, as if bored. He thought he might have a stroke.

"You don't _know_? The Brentons are our _family_, and you can't remember when Norah started sleeping with one of them?" He was yelling now, but he didn't care. The hurt was seeping in. "How could you know at not tell me? How could you know and hide it from me?"

"All right," Anna interrupted, rolling over to face him. "I never _hid _anything—"

"You absolutely hid! You knew, and didn't tell me!"

"Because Norah promised me not to say anything!"

"And you said yes?"

"Of course I did! I keep all my promises to the girls, you know that." She eyed him for a moment, lips pursed. "Aren't you going to ask me why she made me promise not to tell you, Kurt?"

"I assume because she was ashamed of sleeping him."

Anna frowned. "Now you're being mean."

"No, I'm being logical."

"It isn't like Norah to hide things," Anna pointed out. "Or to care what other people think of her." She paused, watching her husband digest this. He couldn't argue. Their youngest was nothing if not straightforward. "She was doing it for Anthony," Anna continued quietly. "He respects you so much, and the last thing he wanted was for you to think poorly of him because he'd been dating Nor in secret. So she was protecting him, because she was scared your reaction would be just as insane as it is now."

"I'm not being—"

"You are. Don't even try to lie."

Kurt sighed, hanging his head. He stared down at their duvet for a moment, thinking.

"Why all the secrecy?" he wondered finally. "If she's not ashamed, and he's so worried about how I'll react, why'd they choose to sneak around in the first place?"

"Oh, come on." Anna snorted at the blank look on his face. "That one's easy: because it's _fun_, Kurt."

He didn't say anything to that, and after a minute, she reached out for his hand, squeezing it tight to grab his attention.

"What's going on here? Why are you so angry for no reason?"

"Why _aren't _you angry?"

"Because _I_ have no reason to be," she chuckled. "You are so intensely protective of those girls, Kurt. Always have been. There's barely any room for me to even worry."

"Well, they're my kids," he muttered, defensive of his place in their lives even after all these years. They might have taken his name, but they didn't share blood. Some days he worried there was a distance between them he might not be able to bridge despite how much he loved them.

"I know that." She leaned over and kissed him softly. "They're yours. And I'm happy you want to protect them. But they're adults, and they don't need this kind of protection from you." Anna cracked a smile. "Certainly not Maddie."

Kurt managed a smile, too. Their eldest, Maddie, had been dating the same woman for years. They didn't need to worry about her and men. They only had to worry about how long it was taking the two of them to discuss rings. But Norah…

"You've always liked Anthony best of all of Jane and Oscar's kids," Anna pointed out. "So what's wrong with him dating Norah?"

_What's wrong is I saw her proposition him on the street_, Kurt thought, but he didn't dare say it. He didn't even want to think about that.

So instead he said, "Oscar tried to blame Ant's divorce on her."

"Well, that was rude." She paused, confused. "Wait, how does he know about them? Did you wake him up at midnight too?"

"No, I ran into him at the Rockwell. We saw them together when we were leaving."

"Ah… I see now." She was smiling again. "It all makes sense."

"What?" he wondered, wary, not certain he wanted the answer.

"Well, of course _you two _are all worked up about this."

He drew back. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, don't play dumb. You know you two feed into each other in this sort of situation. You guys get up in arms about everything."

"We do not!"

"'The Brentons are our family,'" she mocked, mimicking his low voice. "No, they're our family _friends_, Kurt. They're not _family_. That's a big difference. There's nothing wrong with Norah dating a family friend. Unless, of course," she added with a grin, "you happen to have some sort of _history_ with that family that makes them more than just _friends_…"

"Okay, that is _not _what this is about!"

"Oh, isn't it?" Anna laughed as jumped to his feet in indignation. "Then why else are you yelling? Why else are you and Oscar so weirded out by the fact that one of our kids is dating one of theirs?" She shook her head in mock outrage. "I mean, you kiss Jane one time thirty years ago and suddenly Ant's _your _son?"

"I am not even going to dignify that stupidity with a reply."

"Great," Anna yanwed. "Then I can go back to bed."

Kurt waved her off, too annoyed and embarrassed to answer. She wasn't right, and yet—it had been so strange seeing Norah with one of Jane's kids. It had felt wrong, somehow—not just because he was so used to thinking of Anthony as a married man, but because he was _Anthony_. Kurt would never be able to count all the hours he'd spent by Anthony's bedside after that boy had been born, so early and so sick. Maybe Anna was right that he saw Anthony as his son of sorts—but not because of that momentary flirtation between him and Jane. It was because he'd invested so much time and energy and heartache into making sure that sick little boy lived long enough to grow up into a man.

"You know I was there after he was born," Kurt reminded his wife quietly. She was still awake, lying on her side as she watched him, red hair curled around her face. "I sat with him and Jane every week. I helped them with hospital bills when I could, if they let me." He paused, chewing the inside of his cheek. "Maybe you're right," he said finally. "Maybe I do think of him as a son. But that's the reason why, not anything else."

Anna reached out a hand, and he sat down on the edge of the bed to take it. "I didn't mean to make fun," she murmured. "I know you care about him; you always have. I liked that when I dated you," she added with a smile. "How much you cared about kids that weren't yours. I saw it as a good sign."

"It _was_ a good sign," Kurt answered.

She squeezed his hand, and for a moment they sat there in silence. Then Anna cleared her throat.

"So. You're going to drop this whole crusade then, right?"

"What?" He frowned at her. "Anna, be serious. I'd die for that kid. But that doesn't mean he still gets to sleep with my daughter."

"Oh my god." Anna fell back against the mattress. "Enough, then. It's after one in the morning. I don't want to talk about this anymore, and I'm going back to bed."

"Fine." Kurt was already reaching for his phone. He had someone better to talk to, anyway.

"Are you going to stay up for another couple hours brooding?"

"No," he muttered stubbornly.

"Just do it quietly," she yawned. Then she rolled back over to her side of the bed. He hadn't even clicked on his contacts list when she added, "And be sure to say hi to your best friend for me."

He made a face at her turned back, but he couldn't deny himself. So Anna didn't care—hopefully Jane would. And at least Oscar did. He waited until he was back in the hall, bedroom door closed, before he made the call.

Oscar picked up on the first ring.

"What?" he asked.

"Anna doesn't care," Kurt replied, not seeing a point of bothering with the pleasantries.

There was a sigh on the other side of the line. "Neither does Jane."

"What? What are we going to do? Have you heard from—"

"I've gotta go," Oscar cut in.

"What?" Kurt was clinging to his phone too tightly. "What do you mean? I thought we were—"

"I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Phone dead in his hand, Kurt sat at the kitchen counter. He couldn't believe he had no one to talk to about this. Not one single person.

He almost thought of calling Maddie, just to break the news to another hopefully disbelieving soul, but then he saw the note Anna had left on the counter, and he had other ideas.

* * *

His firstborn was standing in the doorway, hands at his sides. All Oscar could do was stare. He felt like he hadn't seen his son in years.

"So." Ant held his gaze. "How'd you find out?"

"Saw you on the street," Oscar replied. He still had his phone in his hand from the call with Kurt. He shoved it into his pocket. "You weren't exactly hiding," he felt the need to add.

The flicker of a smile. Or maybe a smirk.

"To be honest, Dad, I didn't expect you'd be awake this late, let alone out on the town. Thought we were safe."

_Safe?_

"I was having a drink."

The petulant part of him wanted to add, _A drink I was supposed to have with _you.

"With Uncle Kurt, I assume?" Ant actually did smile this time. Though there was a derisive edge to it. "Yeah, that's what I thought. What did you expect?" he asked, seeing the puzzled look on his father's face. "You had Uncle Kurt call Norah to ask where _I _was on your behalf. At twelve-twenty in the morning. It wasn't very hard to put two and two together to realize you two knew something was up." He shook his head. "I can't believe you both used to be detectives. You're really bad at lying."

"And you're so much better at it than I ever imagined."

He hadn't meant the words to come out so sour, but there they were.

And there was his son, looking like a little boy. Just for a split-second.

As quickly as it had appeared, though, the pain was gone. Oscar felt sickened by how relieved he was to see it masked so easily.

He cleared his throat, searching for something else to say.

All that came to mind was, "When did it start?"

"Do we really have to have this conversation, Dad? It's one in the morning."

"I just have some questions. You're standing in the house I raised you in, so please do me the courtesy of answering them. When did it start?"

Anthony turned away, and for a second, Oscar thought he was going to leave. Apologies were piling up behind his lips, eager to escape and salvage this situation, and then—

"Thanksgiving."

Oscar blinked. "Thanksgiving?" He tried to remember if he'd noticed anything then. But of course not. He hadn't noticed a thing until _tonight_.

"Thanksgiving." Anthony nodded. "We…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Not for the first time, Oscar marveled at how similar Anthony looked to a younger version of himself. It wasn't a mirror, not quite—but it was close enough. "Look, can we keep it PG-13 at least? We drank too much and we ended up in the same bed the next morning. End of story."

"Or start of story." Oscar paused. He didn't want to know much more either, but there was one question that had to be answered. "So it wasn't going on while you were married? Or even while you were separated, before the divorce?"

"What?" Anthony's eyes widened. "Jesus, no. Why would you even think that?"

"Well…" Oscar swallowed hard, equal parts ashamed and relieved. "I've been trying to understand for months why you got divorced. I thought when I saw you tonight, maybe… Maybe you and Norah made a mistake. And maybe you kept making it. And maybe—"

"And maybe that's why I got _divorced_? Dad, god, I know it's apparently impossible for you to fathom this, but sometimes people get married for the wrong reasons. Sometimes people marry people they think they're supposed to marry, or people they think they love. Or maybe—shocker—people who get married fall _out _of love." He pressed his lips together, gazing at his father. "I know you and Mom are the 1% of the 1% who have a perfect marriage—"

"We don't have a perfect marriage," Oscar interrupted.

"Yeah, well, you sure have acted like it all my life." Anthony sighed, and then crossed the room to sink onto the couch. Oscar moved to follow him, hovering by the nearby armchair. "Sometimes I resent you for it, you know that? That you two are always so happy together. I grew up thinking love like that was possible."

"It is."

Anthony merely scoffed, shaking his head.

Oscar took a seat in the armchair.

"What about Norah?" he asked quietly.

"What about her?"

"Does she make you happy?"

Anthony's head shot up. "I'm not _in love _with her, Dad. Jesus. Don't blow this out of proportion."

"I didn't ask if you were in love with her, I asked if she made you happy."

Anthony thought for a moment, staring hard at his father, as if he might sort out whether or not this was a trick question.

"Yes," he said finally. "She makes me happy."

"And do you make her happy?"

"I think I do."

"Well, then, that's your starting point. See if you can make each other happy for a day, a week, a month, a year."

"You... want us to get married?" Anthony wondered incredulously.

"No, I want you to put thought into your relationships. And I want you to be happy." Oscar leaned forward in his chair. "All I want is for you to be happy, Ant. That's all I've ever wanted. That's why I was so upset when you got divorced. I just didn't want you to be heartbroken. I know what it's like to lose someone you love and… Sometimes it's not something you can come back from." He looked down at his hands, twisting his wedding ring around his finger. Just to remind himself it was still there.

"Was it really that bad?" Anthony asked quietly. "When you and Mom broke up…" He trailed off, not knowing what to ask. Not even knowing exactly what had happened. They never talked about it.

He watched as his father sighed, and sat back in his chair.

"Honestly, Ant? It was the worst time in my life. I won't sugarcoat things for you. It was worse than being in combat; in some ways, it was worse than losing my parents, because at least I had her after they were gone. And then after she left… I didn't know what I was supposed to do without her. I couldn't stop thinking about her, and worse, I knew she probably wasn't thinking about me." He paused, pushing down that old heartache and fear. Strange how it could buckle him, even after all these years. "It took us a while to figure ourselves out. I suppose it was worth it in the end, because we ended up together and we ended up with you and your siblings. But truthfully… I still want that time apart back. I wish I could say it made me a better person, a more mature person, but sometimes I think it just made me a scared one. And I never want you to be scared in the way I was scared."

Anthony swallowed hard, barely able to meet his father's gaze.

"I… I never felt like that in my marriage," he whispered. "I mean, we cared about each other, of course, but it wasn't… It wasn't that deep, visceral feeling, you know? She wasn't a part of me and I wasn't a part of her; we were just comfortable with each other. And then I think at some point we got tired of each other." He looked at his father. "Sounds sad, doesn't it, compared with you and Mom? You guys are like something out of a movie."

Oscar managed a smile. "Feels like that sometimes, sure."

"Well, I'm glad you did boring, real-life things like buy an apartment and have kids," he joked. "Else I wouldn't be here."

"Ant, you'll never know how exciting those boring, real-life things were to me. Still are." He hesitated a moment, glancing at his son before asking carefully, "It's late. You want to stay the night here with us?"

"Dad…"

"I know you've got a hotel and all…" He paused, realizing: maybe Anthony _didn't_ have a hotel. Maybe he just stayed at Norah's during these trips to the city. Oscar cleared his throat, pushing those thoughts away. "It'd just be nice if you stayed. You and your ma and I can all have breakfast together tomorrow. Before you leave?"

He was on the verge of begging, and maybe Anthony could tell. Maybe that's why he said yes.

"Is my old room made up?" he asked afterwards, getting to his feet once more.

"Sheets are clean," Oscar affirmed.

"Okay."

They each stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. This was the part where they were supposed to hug and say goodnight and see you tomorrow, but Oscar knew he was on thin ice. He'd invaded enough of his son's privacy for the night, be it well-intentioned or not.

"Night," Anthony said finally, offering half of a wave before heading down the hall to his childhood bedroom.

"Night," Oscar called after him. He was about turn towards his own bedroom when he remembered something. Just one last question, nagging at him. "Hey, Ant. Why didn't you ask me what Mom said when I told her?"

"Wow." When Anthony glanced back, there was a genuine smile on his face. "I guess she really does keep her word, then. Good to know. Try asking her again and see what she says this time—tell her I said it was okay."

Jane was asleep again by the time Oscar got back to bed, and though he wanted so badly to ask her what Ant meant, he decided to let it go for tonight. Morning wasn't far off, after all. Maybe he'd get his answers from both of them over breakfast tomorrow.

The last thing he did before he went to sleep was check his phone one more time. There was just one new text, from Kurt. It contained a reservation for six at a restaurant nearby and the message, _Interrogation begins at 11:30 AM tomorrow._

Oscar smiled to himself. Suddenly, there were so many more questions he wanted to ask. It would be good to have backup.

* * *

_**A/N**: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this! I've been writing snippets of Kurt & Anna for a while now, and I just love them as a couple. Norah and Ant are such a fun experiment in and of themselves. As always, let me know what you think! :)_


	2. A Goodbye Accident

**A/N**: This is a little snippet based on the prompt "I kissed you goodbye by accident." I couldn't resist thinking immediately of Ant & Norah when I read this prompt, so here's another little fic about them. I hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

He was staring at her too much. He knew it, and yet every time he tried to look away, something drew him back. Her laugh, her smile, a casual toss of her red hair. Even the tiniest details brought memories of that night flooding back.

They'd been more than a little drunk when they'd stumbled into bed together over the Thanksgiving holiday, but Anthony remembered the night clearly. Or at least, he remembered the parts that mattered. He couldn't quite recall where he'd been walking her home from, or how _he'd_ gotten home the next morning, but he did remember how clean her sheets had smelled, and the way her eyes had closed when he'd touched her, and how softly she'd whispered his name when she'd been beneath him.

_Tony_.

She'd been calling him by that nickname for years—first as a joke, then later simply because it had become routine. And the way she'd said it that night… He never wanted to forget it. He wanted to hear it again and again and again.

But they hadn't spoken since.

In the month that had passed since they'd slept together, she hadn't called, and the few times they'd texted, it had always been about meaningless, innocent things: low-level family drama or habitual work complaints. It was hard to segue from _I hate my boss_ to _I can't stop thinking about being in your bed_. So he didn't try. Norah was a forthright person—if she wanted to talk about what they'd done together, she would. If she wanted more from him, she'd say so.

Clearly, she didn't.

He wondered, as he watched her, if she would've even come over for Christmas Eve dinner tonight if it hadn't been a longstanding tradition between their families. They hadn't exchanged more than fifteen words all night—and all of them pleasantries befitting complete strangers. They were usually so close, and Anthony wondered if the others noticed they weren't talking anymore, weren't sitting next to each other like usual, weren't even making eye contact.

He hoped his uncle Kurt hadn't noticed. Anthony had been watching him almost as much as he'd been watching the man's daughter, trying to tell if he sensed anything. His uncle had been a detective all his adult life—surely he could smell guilt as potent as Anthony's, right? Or even worse, the desire still there, just waiting for an excuse to ignite once more.

The good thing was, he probably wasn't going to get that excuse. Norah clearly wasn't interested in speaking to him, and besides, they were surrounded on all sides by family members.

There were too many of them in too small a space, and with so much to hide, Anthony was starting to feel more and more claustrophobic as the night dragged on. His aunt had been telling him a story for the past ten minutes—not that he'd been listening—and he was trying to figure out a way to duck out of the conversation and escape out into the city for a few minutes when suddenly Norah got to her feet and began making her goodbyes.

Anthony could feel his pulse pick up. He was anxious to have her go but he was even more anxious to see her leave without being able to say a single meaningful word to her. When was the next time he was going to see her? Maybe not until next Thanksgiving, which was almost an entire year away. He couldn't wait that long. He couldn't wait at all.

She was almost to the door when he caught up to her in the hall, calling her name in what he hoped wasn't too desperate of a fashion.

She turned, clearly surprised, waiting to hear what he had to say.

Courage failed him as quickly as it had risen to the occasion.

"Um… I just wanted to say—merry Christmas. In case I don't see you before I head back."

"Oh." She smiled. God, he loved her smile. "Thanks. And merry Christmas to you too, Tony."

Something about the way she said his name broke through whatever it was that was holding him back. He smiled at her too, and without sparing a second for further thought, he reached forward to hug her. He felt her tense for a second—and then he closed his eyes in relief when he felt her arms rise to his back as well. They stood there for a second or two, holding one another. Then he made himself let her go.

All he'd meant to do was hug her goodbye. Truly, that was it.

But then they were pulling apart and she was looking at him and he was looking at her and they were so close that it didn't make sense _not_ to kiss her. So he did. And she kissed him back.

He could have died in that moment and he wouldn't have minded. The simple knowledge that _she wanted him too_ was overpowering to the point that he actually froze—and then, just as quick, he recovered. He wasn't going to let this moment slip away like he had so many others. He stepped forward, lifting a hand to her hair. That gorgeous, soft, vibrant red hair. He had had dreams about it. He moved closer, deepening their kiss.

"Tony," she whispered, pushing against his chest gently to break them apart. "_Think_."

"I am," he whispered back. "All I'm doing is thinking. I can't stop thinking about you. About Thanksgiving."

She closed her eyes again, and he remembered once more how beautiful she'd looked that night. Naked. Eyes closed. Arms wrapped around him.

There was a burst of laughter from behind them, and they both jumped, flying apart, eyes searching down the hall. But no one was coming towards them from the living room off to the side. Still—anyone could walk in on them at any moment. Anthony knew better than to reach for her again.

Instead he kept his voice quiet; it was easy to hide beneath the boisterous sounds of his uncles arguing for storytelling rights.

"I know we were drunk," he whispered. "And I know it was the holidays and I know it might've been a mistake to you—"

"It wasn't a mistake to me," she interrupted fiercely. His eyes widened with hope. "It wasn't," she insisted. "I knew what I was doing. I don't regret it."

"Then why now…?" He swallowed, fearful of the answer she might give but unable, anymore, to stay in the dark. "Norah, why no?" he asked in a whisper.

"Tony, come on…"

He wished he could tell her to stop saying his name like that. It just made him want to kiss her more.

"What?" he pressed.

"What do you mean _what_? What's the point? You live on practically the other side of the country. We only ever see each other at holidays, and sometimes not even then. Besides, I know you're still dealing with the fallout from your divorce and—"

"Please do not use that as an excuse."

"It's not an excuse. It's the truth. You're in a fragile spot emotionally."

"That doesn't mean I don't want—"

He broke off when he heard footsteps, but it was just his aunt Sarah, passing by on her way to the bathroom. She didn't so much as look at either of them, but Anthony couldn't shake the fact that they were in much too public of a spot to talk about these sorts of things.

"Look," he muttered. "Can we just go out into the hall and talk about this? Just for a minute?"

Norah sighed heavily, and for a fearful second he thought she was going to say no and leave instead. But then she nodded and reached for the door, indicating with a tip of her head that he should follow. With a glance back to make sure no one was watching, he slipped out after her and pulled the door shut behind him.

They walked a couple paces away and then faced one another.

"Okay, go ahead." Norah had her arms crossed—bad sign. "What is it you want?"

"I want…"

God, what _did_ he want? Sometimes he couldn't even articulate it to himself. He wanted to sleep with her again, sure, but there was more to it than that. He just didn't know what it was yet. He wanted—_needed_—more time with her to find out.

But he wasn't going to get it—at least not if he didn't say something soon. He could tell from the way she was glancing down the hall and crossing her arms and shifting her weight that she wanted out of here fast. She was short on patience and he might only have seconds left.

"I'd just like to be with you," he said finally, voicing the first thing that came to mind, knowing it was lame but also that it was true. He wasn't any kind of charming romantic, but he hoped honesty counted for something. "While we're both here, in the same city at the same time, not beholden to anyone else… I want to spend my time with you, Norah. I want…" He could feel himself blushing, and he cursed himself and his genes silently. As much as he loved his mother, he hated that he'd inherited her pale skin and her penchant for blushing at the drop of a hat. "I want a repeat of Thanksgiving," he forced out, feeling his face heat. "And I—I think you do too."

"You do, do you?"

He held his breath, wondering how badly he'd overstepped. She'd kissed him back a minute ago—that had to mean something, right?

"I hope so," he answered. "I hope you want the same things I want. I hope you've been thinking about the same things I've been thinking about. Because…" He ran a hand roughly through his hair. "God, Norah, I haven't been able to _stop_ thinking about you. Not for single day, not since that night."

She didn't say anything and he was too scared to look up to gauge her reaction. He knew he'd said too much. They'd slept together _once_—what was he doing, going around saying she was on his mind all the time?

_There's such a thing as too much honesty,_ a voice counseled in his head. It sounded oddly like his father's, and it made him grit his teeth. His father had become an unbearable font of patronizing advice ever since Anthony had told him about the divorce.

He didn't even want to _imagine_ what his father might say if he found out what was going on right now. Or what had gone on over Thanksgiving.

"One question, Tony."

His head jerked up at the sound of Norah's voice. She was standing closer to him now than she had been before, he noticed. All thoughts of his father and their deteriorating relationship disappeared as he watched her tilt her head ever so slightly to look directly into his eyes. He swallowed nervously under her gaze, waiting.

"So you've been thinking about me…" One of her hands brushed his. He had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't kiss her again, right there in the hall where anyone could see. One half of her mouth was curled up like maybe she sensed his train of thought. Clearly she enjoyed testing him, teasing him, because she finished, "What exactly is it you've been thinking of?"

He would've flushed red if he hadn't already been blushing. His immediate instinct was to turn away. There was something so intensely attractive about Norah's unabashed straightforwardness, and yet it always embarrassed him when she turned that particular talent on him.

_Well_, he thought to himself, _take a leaf out of her book for once._

"Do I have to tell you?" he asked quietly. He could still feel her hand against his. Just the edges of their fingers were touching. He wanted more. He leaned forward until his forehead met hers. He felt a thrill of satisfaction watching her eyes close at the touch—and even better, watching her chin tip towards his, blindly seeking his mouth. "Because to be honest, I'd rather show than tell."

Her eyes flashed open—God, the exhilaration at catching her off guard for once!—and she grinned.

"Well, look at that," she teased, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tight. "Now he gets bold."

"Just gotta move past my blushing threshold," he replied. "Then I'm already so embarrassed I've got nothing to lose."

"I like embarrassed Anthony." She grinned, curling her fingers around the collar of his shirt to pull him close. "He's surprisingly forward."

He kissed her then, his free hand once more sliding to her hair, while hers moved to the back of his neck, hugging him to her. He made himself focus on kissing her, which was hard only because he so badly wanted to undress her. He didn't care that they were standing in the middle of a public hallway, ten feet away from their families. He'd waited a month for this.

She laughed when they ended up against the nearby wall with a _thud_. Her back was flat against it and his mouth had moved down to her neck. She closed her eyes, content for the moment to stand there and be kissed by him, warmed by him inside and out. One of her hands stayed hooked around behind his neck while the other moved down, finally settling in his back pocket. He jumped when she squeezed his ass and she laughed again, grinning at the surprise on his face.

He was grinning too, though now he was shaking his head, looking down between them and hardly able to believe how close they were. "This is like every wet dream I ever had as a kid."

"Ha!" She burst out laughing so loud he had to shush her. "_Dreamed_ about me, did you, Tony?"

"Oh, please." He rolled his eyes at her taunting. "You know I had the biggest crush on you when I was seventeen." He paused. "And your sister, actually." He chuckled to himself. "You know, it's funny, the amount of times you two showed up together in my—"

"_Not_ what I want to hear!" Norah snapped, pressing her fingers to her ears.

"Oh, come on." He laughed, playfully yanking at her arms until she finally let them drop of her own accord. She was glaring at him, and it felt nice, for once, to embarrass her instead of embarrassing himself.

"I'm not happy with you," she grumbled. "That is not information I needed _or_wanted to know—"

"If I say sorry like I really, really mean it, will you forgive me?" He was pouting at her, and she rolled her eyes at the puppy-dog look on his face. That idiocy might work on some women, but not her.

Unfortunately, he seemed to realize this at the same moment, because the innocent look on his face disappeared and then his mouth was, once more, kissing a trail along her neck, interspersed every few seconds with a whispered apology. Despite her best intentions, Norah sighed, letting go of her indignation as she felt that familiar heat stoking up within her once more. Her arms circled around him and she was grateful now, for the wall at her back. Without it, they might have ended up on the floor.

"Do you still have a crush on me?" she wondered, after he'd made his second circuit around her neck.

He chuckled, lifting his head. "What part of me literally _begging_ you to sleep with me again makes you think I _don't_ still have a crush on you?"

Norah shook her head. "You're such a dork, Tony."

"All right," he allowed amiably, and the response was so simple and so sweet that she pushed away from the wall so she could kiss him properly again. His arms were just starting to circle around her back when a door opened behind them.

They broke apart immediately, but even so, it wasn't fast enough.

Anthony's mother was standing there in the hall not ten feet away, a fabric bag slung over her shoulder as she stared at them, open-mouthed.

Anthony stared back, equally speechless. He fought for something to say, but nothing came to mind. All he could hear was his heart pounding, suddenly so fast and loud, inside his chest.

"I, um, I didn't want you to leave without taking some leftovers," his mother said finally. It took Anthony a few seconds to realize she was talking to Norah. "I was headed over to your apartment; I thought you'd be on your way home by now…"

"Oh." Norah's voice was small, but her face was clear. Unlike Anthony's, which was flaming. For the first time since he'd kissed her today, he wondered how obviously his mouth was stained with Norah's lipstick. "Thank you, Mrs. Brenton. That was really thoughtful of you."

Jane smiled. She always smiled when people called her by her husband's name. Anthony's friends used to do it growing up, not knowing that his mother had kept her name when she'd married his father. He'd asked her if it annoyed her; he'd told her she didn't need to smile, that she could correct them. But she'd shaken her head, still smiling. _I like when people make the assumption. It makes me feel like a newlywed._

Anthony stepped towards his mother, putting a few paces between himself and Norah.

"Mom, look, about what you just saw—"

She waved a careless hand. "Don't worry about it, Anthony."

"No, Mom, seriously, you need to understand that—"

"Honey," she interrupted sharply. "Trust me. I know how to keep a secret." She glanced between the two of them, a little smile playing at the edges of her lips. "And if you two want to sneak off, I promise I won't say a word…"

"Ma!"

She merely smiled at her son's indignation, waving them both away. "Go on. I'll make your excuses. Just make sure you're back in time for presents tomorrow, Ant."

"Ma…"

"Don't worry." She passed him the bag of leftovers, and then squeezed his shoulder. "I won't say a word to your dad."

Well, _that _was something. Ant chewed on his lip, lowering his voice. "Or Uncle Kurt?"

"Or Uncle Kurt," Jane assured him. "Now go. Have a good time." She leaned closer for a moment, lowering her voice to a whisper only he could hear. "I don't know what you two are doing, Ant, but I do know that it's nice to see you happy again."

He couldn't meet her eyes. "Thank you, Ma," he whispered.

She squeezed his hand. "I love you, honey."

"Love you too."

As she headed back into the apartment, he turned back to face Norah. For a moment, they just stood there in silence.

"I… don't even know how to apologize for that," he said finally. "Or even explain it, really."

"You don't need to explain it," Norah replied. "Parents are weird."

"That's an understatement where mine are concerned," Anthony sighed, making his way back to her side.

"So…" She tipped her head towards the stairs. "Want to continue this back at my place?"

"I'd love to," he answered. Then he remembered what he was carrying. He looked down at the bag of leftovers in his hands, then back up at her. He lifted it helplessly.

"I don't know what we're supposed to do with this."

"Midnight snack," she grinned. "I'll be sure to thank your mom next time I see her for giving us intermission fuel."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Please do _not_ talk about my mother's motives like that."

"Only if you agree never to talk about my sister again. Ever."

"Fine. Deal."


End file.
